


The Chaser

by tosca



Series: Synastry [1]
Category: Andromeda
Genre: Alcohol, M/M, Xenophobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-05
Updated: 2011-02-05
Packaged: 2017-10-15 10:34:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/159945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tosca/pseuds/tosca
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After nightmares of the Magog and his past, Harper tries to find oblivion. Tyr helps him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Chaser

"C'mon, c'mon, open you piece of drek."

Tyr turned the corner and silently advanced up behind the figure attempting to break open a sealed door. 

"What are you doing?" 

" _Argh!_ " the Maru's engineer whirled around, startled. "Shit! Don't _do_ that! Are you trying to scare me into the middle of next week?"

Tyr crossed his arms and regarded Harper calmly, waiting silently for a reply.

He got an exasperated sigh.

"What does it look like I'm doing? I'm breaking into the engineers' wardroom."

"Why do you not just ask Andromeda to unlock the door?"

Harper looked at him as though he were suggesting something nefarious.

"Where's the fun in that? Besides alcohol tastes better when you work a little for it."

Tyr looked pointedly at the bottles of beer stationed beside the door.

"I believe you 'liberated' some alcohol from the Guard Station. Why do you require more?"

"Yeah, well, I felt like a chaser and given that I doubt engineers have changed much in the last 300 years, I just _know_ there's a bottle of whiskey with my name on it behind this door."

Tyr noticed the whole time they had been speaking the blonde had not ceased moving - he rocked up and down lightly on his feet, switched the laserprobe from one hand to another, just basically _jiggled_. Normally Tyr would have construed this as nervousness of him, but in this case he didn't think so. Which is not to say the little human wasn't afraid of Tyr - even now the man eyed him with an edge of wariness - but ever since they had left GS92196, the engineer had been in constant motion. He believed Captain Valentine had said Harper was "bouncing off the walls".

Initially he had thought the construction of the avatar was the reason. But the engineer had done some check-ups on his creation, pronounced her a "110% perfect babe", and then left her to explore her newfound corporeality on her own, with only the occasional suggestion or leer.

This required more thought.

"Well don't let me stop you." He motioned with one hand towards the open panel, then folded it across his chest again. "I may even join you in that drink."

Blue eyes flashed briefly before the human turned back to the door.

"Oh lucky me," he muttered quietly, though not inaudibly enough to elude Nietzschean hearing.

"Indeed," Tyr agreed smoothly.

Harper flicked a startled look at him, then returned to probing the lock. Tyr took the time to study his shipmate.

Slender fingers delved nimbly within the wall panel and a frown of concentration creased almost petite features. The engineer looked slightly more unkempt than usual, fair hair tousled, face pale and tired. As though he was sleeping poorly.

Tyr briefly reviewed the past few days and came to two conclusions; firstly, given how often he had seen the engineer awake and in the middle of doing something, Harper must have barely slept during that period. And secondly, the human was avoiding Rev Bem.

Now that he thought of it, all his shipmates had made their horror at the destruction of the entire Daiheedra system and its Magog inhabitants known, bar Harper. The person who had a freely pro-offered opinion on almost everything had been completely silent on the matter. Interesting. The Magog as a whole appeared to be one of the engineer's vulnerabilities.

"Gotcha!"

The door slid open and Harper swooped down, picked up the beer and bounded into the room. Tyr followed. The wardroom looked like most wardrooms did, although cleaner and outfitted in stylish Commonwealth decor. A scattering of chairs encircled a big couch, beside which was some form of recreational table, and on the right a mini-kitchen where Harper was even now sliding open cupboards.

" _Yes!_ Am I omnipotent or what?"

A green-labeled bottle made its appearance. Harper snagged a couple of glasses from an adjoining cupboard and flopped onto the couch.

"Bring the beer." 

He ordered the Nietzschean.

Tyr raised an eyebrow at the peremptory tone, but picked up a couple of the bottles from the counter and lowered himself into one of the chairs opposite the couch. He unscrewed the caps, handed a bottle to Harper, and received a glass containing a finger or so of amber fluid in exchange.

"Cheers!"

Harper toasted him and took a long pull on his beer.

"Death to the Magog."

Tyr replied.

For the first time, the human stilled totally. Then he slowly lowered the bottle and looked at the Nietzschean, face and eyes blank.

"Why do you say that?"

"I did not think it was a toast you would object to."

Tyr’s statement ended with a slight raised inflection. Anger washed the blankness from Harper's face.

"None of your damn business, Tyr!"

The engineer threw back the whiskey in one gulp, eyes watering slightly at the burn.

"When it affects you enough that it becomes obvious, it becomes my business."

"And just why does what some _kludge_ feels matter to you?"

"Your efficiency affects the ship, which therefore affects me."

"Oh. Nice to see you have my welfare at heart."

The sarcasm didn't provoke Tyr. He switched the conversation to the heart of the matter.

"You aren't sleeping. Dreams?"

Just like Dylan, Tyr knew all about those – the good and the bad. And like the law and possession, dreams were made up of nine tenths of the latter.

A pinched look appeared on Harper's face and his eyes darted towards the wardroom door. Tyr could tell the human was wondering just what the hell he was doing here talking to a Nietzschean and just how the hell he could get out the door in one piece as soon as possible.

"You have not spoken with Dylan about this."

"No shit, Sherlock."

Harper leaned forward, put down the beer and poured a large measure of the whiskey into his glass, then took a gulp. He'd obviously decided he wasn't escaping this one easily so he might as well get drunk for the ride.

Tyr took a guess at the cause of the human's distress.

"Overexerting yourself at work and imbibing excessive amounts of alcohol is unwise. They are ultimately counterproductive measures in combating your fears and driving away your memories."

He was rewarded by a slight flinch and a feral grin.

"You got a better suggestion then, Uberman?"

Tyr regarded the other male coolly. Harper was a little, no, make that a lot, scrawnier than Tyr's preferred bed partners, but was not without his own charms - his animation and intelligence in particular. That he was a human was unfortunate, but not insupportable. After all, it wasn't as though they would be procreating. And Tyr had always had a weakness for blondes.

"Indeed."

He rose to his feet and took a couple of swift steps to the couch. Harper flinched again, alarmed to find the Nietzschean looming over him. Confusion filled his face when Tyr knelt down beside the couch and leaned over him. Tyr slid a hand along Harper's jaw, tilted the surprised face up and kissed the other man softly.

Harper's mouth was warm and firm beneath his, shock rendering the human still once again. Tyr took advantage of that, sliding his hand around the back of Harper's neck and tasting the whiskey-flavored lips more aggressively. At first the other man responded hesitantly, then suddenly caught fire, hands grasping Tyr's shoulders, mouth demanding. Tyr trailed his hands down the engineer's body, stroking and caressing until the slight body was writhing and pressing against him, uttering inarticulate moans as stimulating as the small hands running feverishly over him in return. He pulled his mouth from Harper's and placed hot kisses along the pale throat, running his hand up to rub against the half-hardness covered by the engineer's shapeless trousers.

Harper wrenched back, flattening into the couch.

"No! No! I am _so_ not doing this with a Nietzschean!"

"Why is that a difficulty? Much as you hate the Magog as a species, you do not have a problem with Rev Bem. Deal with me on the same basis."

"In case you hadn't noticed dude, Rev ain't exactly your run-a-the-mill Magog. But so far I haven't seen anything out of the ordinary for a Nietzschean from _you_.”

"Then think of it this way - you need something and for my own reasons I am willing to give it. No matter my motive, it is to your advantage."

"Frakin' Nietzscheans! You think I'm so torn up over some long gone memories I'm gonna roll over and let you screw me? I don't think so!"

Tyr was not a fool. Given what the Magog did to their victims, he doubted Harper wanted even the _suggestion_ of anything being put inside him at the moment.

"We don't have to engage in penetrative sex." At the explicit words Harper blushed slightly, a reaction that both surprised and further aroused Tyr. "However I was not suggesting that you be the recipient."

Astonishment blossomed on Harper's face and his pupils dilated, eclipsing the stormy blue with black.

"You'd let me fuck you?"

"Yes. You have a problem with this?" Tyr raised an eyebrow disbelievingly. "You do not wish to do so?"

"Shit yeah! I mean no! I mean, yeah, I want to!"

"Good."

Tyr stood and started to strip. Harper gaped at him for a couple of seconds, and then started to scramble out of his own clothes. He finished pulling his trousers off and stopped to look at the already naked Tyr, licking his lips at the sculptured flawlessness of the Nietzschean.

Tyr was pleased with what he saw. The human was slight but obviously fit, if not to the muscular extent favored by his own people. Harper's body gleamed palely, and the apparent softness of his skin was contrasted by the rigidity of his erection. Tyr suddenly wanted Harper urgently. Wanted to feel Harper writhe against him again, babble incoherently again. Wanted to feel that piece of hard flesh moving inside him.

He pushed Harper back to lie on the couch and without a word straddled the prone legs, bowed over, and slid his mouth onto and down Harper's erection. The other man cried out and spasmed upward but he grabbed onto the slender hips and held them down, granting no mercy and ceding no quarter as he sucked and licked and teased Harper to the brink of orgasm. Gasps and moans issued forth,

"Yeah Tyr oh oh yeah Tyr Tyr..."

Harper was in no doubt as to who was sucking him off, Tyr thought smugly. Tasting pre-cum, he pulled away before the engineer could ejaculate, and then leaned back on his heels, gently stroking his own erection whilst Harper lay there gasping and slowly regaining control. When reason had returned to the visage under him, he leaned forward and kissed Harper hard, thrusting his tongue into the warm breathless mouth. Harper was writhing under him again by the time he pulled away. The desire to part the blonde's legs and possess him was strong, but Tyr had as much as given his word. He stroked two fingers across the parted lips.

"Suck them."

He ordered. Harper wrapped a willing tongue around the digits and sucked. But although his body still had no doubts as to its needs, his face showed uncertainty as to Tyr's motives. Tyr reassured him with the most direct method, action.

He withdrew his fingers from Harper's mouth and slid one finger past the ring muscle into his anal passage. The mixture of desire and surprise on Harper's face as he watched the Nietzschean prepare himself excited Tyr, arousal and the saliva quickly enabling him to press a second finger in.

"Tyr..."

Harper's voice was low and breathless.

"Now, Harper."

Tyr raised himself over the engineer's groin and slowly lowered onto the other's erection.

Tyr was tight, he hadn't had sex with another man for a while, but the pain soon faded to a pleasurable burn. Underneath him Harper had screwed his eyes shut and was panting in short breaths.

"Harper..."

The engineer opened his eyes. Tyr was relieved to realise it was passion rather than pain that caused the look of almost agony on the other man's face.

"Move."

With that command Tyr leaned over and grabbed the armrest of the couch above Harper's head. The blonde thrust slowly at first, then realised the Nietzschean was serious about letting the human do the f*cking. Harper slid warm hands briefly across Tyr's forearms and spurs, both of them shivering briefly - though for different reasons - then slid them down Tyr's sides to cup tight buttocks. The small gentle lunges increased in tempo, until Harper was spearing his cock relentlessly and energetically into Tyr's passage. One firm stab struck right on his prostate and Tyr heard himself cry out involuntarily. That seemed to destroy any inhibitions restraining Harper and his arms were suddenly full of heated wanton human, plunging into him, stroking his sweet spot, emitting little broken cries. It took all Tyr's control not to bear down and wrest control from Harper. All he could do was cling desperately to the armrest and Harper and ride it out, until the thrusts became long and hard, and Harper was crying out under him. Then there was warmth spreading inside him, muscles spasming, sensation flooding him away in a white wave of pleasure.

He retained enough sense to collapse to one side of the more fragile human.

When his breath had recovered enough he realised he was the only one awake. Harper was heavily unconscious. The engineer might have blacked out during climax, but flattering to Tyr's ego as that idea might be, chances were Harper had just finally exhausted himself enough to fall deeply asleep. Tyr considered his options briefly, then rose and strode out the door.

When he returned, Harper had curled up somewhat, but straightened readily enough when Tyr moved him over and covered them both with the blanket.

 

\------------

 

The door hissed open and Tyr almost walked into Rev Bem. They both startled before he took another pace forward, forcing the Magog to step backward and allowing the door to close behind the Nietzschean.

Tyr folded his arms across his chest.

"Tyr."

The Magog sounded uncertain.

"Rev."

"Have you...do you know where..."

"He's asleep."

The Nietzschean's voice was a serene frozen lake. Rev made an abortive movement with his hand.

"I don't believe being woken up by... _you_... would be beneficial to him."

... _by a Magog_... was the unspoken but clearly heard implication.

"Harper is somewhat... vulnerable at the moment." Rev's voice was an angry hiss. "I would be most upset to see anyone take advantage of him."

Tyr smirked, at both the Magog's impotent fury and the faint but pleasant internal ache Harper had left as a reminder.

"I assure you, Magog, anything we did was mutually advantageous."

Tyr watched the Magog walk away, frustrated anger discernible by the jerky gait. He relaxed from battle readiness and set off for his own quarters. He smiled all the way.

 

\---------------------

 

Unconsciousness faded out and Harper gave a long catlike stretch. Mmm, he felt good. Odd, he thought, as he wasn't in his own cabin. Usually waking in a strange place freaked him out, yet here he was in the engineers' wardro... whoa.

Last night came back in full Technicolor 3-D glory.

_Whoa_.

And double whoa.

If it weren't for the irrefutable proof of glasses and bottles, and the scent of sex, sweat and large gorgeous Nietzschean plastered all over him, he'd be booking into Hallucinators’ Anonymous right about now.

Shit, he'd better have a shower before he went back to his deck. Knowing his luck he'd run into half the crew looking like he'd spent a night out on the tiles.

Which he had.

With the Nietzschean.

Boy when he screwed uuuuh... images of taut, coffee-colored muscles undulating rhythmically above him suddenly flashed into his mind.

Oh, that wasn't helping.

Shit, the Nietzschean had been right, too.

He'd slept like a baby. No nightmares of a flood of fur and glittering claws hunting him through the alleys of dead abandoned cities, monsters erupting from the bodies of those he'd loved and buried.

The walls around most of his memories were usually solid titanium, but sometimes they went up in flames like litmus paper. He didn't want to analyze what had set him off this time, what had stripped the masks and diversions in his mind away from all the buried anger, hatred and pain. It was enough to know that it had. Thankfully the walls were back now. Solid and real and firm.

And unbelievably, it seemed f*cking Tyr had done that.

Somehow he figured medical science wasn't going to accept screwing a Nietzschean as the recommended cure for disturbed sleep.

Never mind, maybe he'd just keep it his little secret.

He yawned and stretched again, working the kinks out of his back. The couch might be all right to screw on, but he wouldn't recommend it as a bed, no matter he'd slept on much worse.

He got to his feet, wincing a little at sore muscles and pulled his clothes on. He looked at the undrunk alcohol.

Damn.

Well, flat Neu Bayern Weissbrau was better than no Neu Bayern Weissbrau at all. Just the thing for breakfast.

And the chaser?

He'd keep it for later.


End file.
